


Spirits, Good and Bad

by AbeTheDadtm



Series: Poe Party Sequel Fics [1]
Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, HG is me, I love her to death, Multi, and Mary Shelley is a bad ass murder queen, and some horror, basically everyone - Freeform, because they are good soft children, i have dubbed the ship fyoly but if you think up anything better let me know, no one has shipped Fyodor and Emily i think, so i did, there are ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-06 04:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12203604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbeTheDadtm/pseuds/AbeTheDadtm
Summary: In which some old enemies come back to haunt the living, the gang get back to old habits, Edgar may or may not go insane, and HG learns how to ghost





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> In which Lenore teaches HG how to ghost, Annabel ponders about weddings, and the heartbeat grows louder
> 
> (Note: this takes place about a week after the Epilogue, which takes place about a month after episode eleven in this fic. Also, I'm going with the headcanon and HG and Emily are both autistic, which is why their behaviour and/or internal monologues are a bit odd.)

HG would've pounded his head against the table had he not been convinced he would pass straight through it and onto the floor.

He had been spending an ungodly amount of time trying to pick up his old pliers with Lenore watching him and coaching him as best she could. Every time he tried he would pass through them, or he'd only just manage to pick them up before they'd fall through his fingers. And every time Lenore would smile and tell him to try again. He glanced at her after his umpteenth attempt. She smiled at him, but not like she did when she meant it. Frustrated? No, tired, he decided. Maybe he should call it off?

One more try, he thought. HG clenched his jaw and clambered for the pliers, trying to rush -- maybe he was overthinking it, he always overthought things he wasn't supposed to -- but the clumsy attempt knocked him off balance. He felt as though he had been pushed from the chair he was sitting in, and he passed right through the table and onto the floor.

At least his hypothesis was correct.

Lenore yelped, "HG? Are you alright?" She knelt by his side and pulled him up. "Are you okay?"

HG was not okay. He wanted to scream, break something, tear out his hair, but all he could do was hold his head in his hands and curl up into a ball on the floor. The chiming of the old broken clock downstairs -- the clock _he_ could be fixing if only he could pick up any of his tools -- mixed with the thudding of a heartbeat in his ears. For a moment, HG was distracted from his self-loathing by the sound. It wasn't the first time he had heard the sound; he had heard it before when he was downstairs looking for Lenore earlier that week. But he didn't _have_ a heartbeat -- he had tried feeling for a pulse before, but never felt one, even when he was sure he had his fingers in the right spot. So why was he hearing a heartbeat now? Maybe it was the panic, the frustration, the anger at himself. He felt himself returning to his downward-spiralling thoughts.

Lenore sat down next to him, dress ballooning around her. "It's okay, HG. Nobody's perfect. Mary Shelley took _forevs_ to figure out how to move anything. And Dostoyevsky faded through the floor _all the time_ for the first week after he became a ghost. Everyone's got a learning curve."

HG frowned, raking his fingers through his hair. _He_ wasn't supposed to have a learning curve. HG Wells had created worlds with a pen, made contraption on top of contraption, travelled through _time_. When he was alive, anything he tried his hand at he could just... _get_. Now he couldn't get a grasp on the simplest things. _Literally_.

HG could take criticism. He could withstand people laughing at his inventions, refusing to pay attention, calling his devices silly or worthless or stupid. He could live with the knowledge that the truth was _just_ beyond his grasp -- if anything, that knowledge kept him working. But he couldn't take failure. He wasn't used to being trapped. He hated not being able to do something so _simple_ , something he could do without even thinking before he died. For the first time in his life and afterlife, HG Wells felt utterly hopeless.

Lenore tentatively rubbed his back with her hand. The touch brought him out of the dark hole of panic he was spiralling into. He looked up at her, smiling slightly. He felt like a child, so small and so weak. Then he saw her face -- it was all scrunched up -- _sad_ \-- he hated seeing her sad, hated it since he first spoke with her up in this attic about Guy and her death all that time ago. It made him want to retreat to the panic black hole again.

She almost said something, then stopped, then looked away. Sadder. Her face was shadowy, turned away from the feeble lights she had installed up here. After a moment, she huffed and said, "I'm sorry, HG. I just...I don't know what to tell you. I'm about as new to comforting people as you are to ghosting."

Lenore. Lovely, kind, good Lenore. HG sat up, and her hand shifted from his back to his shoulder. "It's alright, Lenore. I wouldn't know what to say, either." He looked at his shoes. "You're trying. That's good enough for me."

" _Exactly_!" Lenore exclaimed, the sharpness returning to her voice. Better. "You're trying, and that's what matters."

HG nodded slightly. He wasn't used to trying. Working, searching, researching, starting over, doing and redoing -- never just trying. He smiled a little and replied, "I'll _try_."

"You are getting better at jokes," Lenore said with a smile.

They sat there, him all curled up, her touching his shoulder. Their gazes fell to the floorboards, but they didn't move. The silence felt nice --

Wait.

The heartbeat. It was still there, and it seemed louder now, more like a drum than a heart. HG straightened, his legs sliding from his chest to straight against the floor. "Is it normal to hear your heart beating when you're dead?" he asked.

Lenore shook her head, face scrunched up again, but different now -- confused. "I can hear a heart beating. But I don't think it's mine."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Annabel Lee was a romantic, and she knew it. Lenore would never let her forget it, fake gagging at her starry-eyed rants about Edgar and their walk together, or Edgar and his silly little writing habits, or Edgar and a lovely poem he wrote for her, or Edgar in general. However, her mind kept returning to the same fantasy again and again.

Weddings.

Despite her romanticism, Annabel hadn't given weddings much thought. She never found them interesting to think about. After all, she always thought the details would unfold on their own, determined by relatives or her groom or the priest or the in-laws. She never put thought into decorations or dresses or ceremonies. But now they were all she could think about. Every unoccupied moment she had, Annabel's thoughts would wander to floral arrangements and Edgar's outfit and who would be the bridesmaids and groomsmen. HG and Lenore, of course, would the best man and maid of honor, then Emily and Fyodor, she figured they'd get along well enough, and of course Oscar and Mary Anne, but then that left Ernest and Mary Shelley and she wasn't sure how that would turn out --

Annabel's train of thought was suddenly derailed by a loud pounding in her head. She rubbed her temples and sighed. No, it wasn't in her head. It was coming from outside.

With a sigh, Annabel set aside the romance novel she had given up on and stood, leaving her and Edgar's bedroom and walking downstairs to the foyer. The noise must be coming from the ground floor; it was absolutely deafening down here. Just as she arrived, Lenore and HG came down the stairs, too. HG was rubbing his ears and wincing, while Lenore looked concerned. "Can you hear it too?" Lenore asked, half-yelling in order to be heard over the sound.

Annabel nodded. "Do you know where it could be coming from?"

Lenore and HG both shook their heads.

Panic rising through her stomach to her chest, Annabel whirled around and headed towards Edgar's study, where she last saw him. A screaming could be heard from there. "Edgar? Edgar!" she cried as she raced down the hall.

Everyone began filtering into the hall. Mary Shelley slammed open a door and exclaimed, "If somebody doesn't stop that noise I am going to tear this damned house apart!" Fyodor either cursed or cried out to God in Russian, but Annabel couldn't tell which. Emily had her fingers in her ears, and she looked like she was about to break down and cry, while Mary Anne looked like she was going to scream.

Annabel tore past them and into the study. The noise must've been coming from here; it rattled the glasses on the tables and shook the books in the shelves. Edgar was pacing, ears blocked with his hands, and yelling at nothing. Annabel could barely hear it. "Eddie, please, _stop_ , leave us alone!"

"Edgar, what is going on?" Annabel screamed.

With a rage in him Annabel had never seen, Edgar tore up a loose floorboard. As soon as it was gone, the noise stopped.

Annabel covered her mouth with her hands. She wasn't sure if she was going to vomit or if she was going to scream.

Buried beneath the floor, rotten and decomposing, was _Eddie_.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the ghosts get rid of a body, Lenore and HG express their feelings, and Mary Shelley says something about humanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, shit's gonna get real here. Skip this chapter if you don't want to read about body disposal, or if mentions of blood, corpses, or murder trigger you. It gets pretty dark here.

The group gathered in the study. Emily, of course, was the last to enter. When she finally did, it was chaotic. Edgar was sitting in a chair by the shelves, head in his hands, hands pulling his hair, talking in shouts and murmurs at the floorboards, with Annabel leaning over him, trying to calm him down. Lenore was alternating between trying to keep HG from fainting and asking Edgar what happened and why did he do this and why didn't he tell them and what are they going to do now. Fyodor said something in Russian and started pacing, Mary Anne stared blankly at nothing, and Mary Shelley yelled, "Everyone, calm down, _please_."

Emily followed everyone's gaze to the opened floorboards and the rotting face beneath it. The dread that sank in her stomach felt like she had swallowed a ball of lead. Her head spun, she felt ill, she wanted to faint or vomit or run out of the room screaming, but she stood there, silent. Everyone else fell quiet, too, and suddenly the only sound was the ticking clock and Edgar's panting breaths.

"We have to move the body out of here first," Mary Shelley said. "Fyodor, I'll need you to take this out and put it into the cellar. We'll discuss what to do with it permanently when we regain some of our sanity. Understood?"

Everyone nodded and moved solemnly, slowly. Lenore helped HG out of the room, arms wrapped around him, carrying him the way she would carry a huge rag doll or scarecrow or corpse -- no, let's not focus on that. Fyodor moved, almost mechanically, towards the body, lifting it out carefully -- no, let's not focus on that either. Emily turned towards Annabel and Edgar. Edgar seemed catatonic, leaning against one arm of the chair, hiding his hands in his face. Annabel kneeled next to him and rubbed his shoulder, eyes downcast. "Come on, Edgar. We should step out now while we can."

Edgar sat up, taking a deep breath and rubbing his face. Emily stepped aside, unsure of where to stand. The loneliness she had been trying to forget was returning again. Everyone moved without seeing her, noticing her. Just like old times.

After a moment of feeling useless, she steeled herself and moved to the feet of the body Fyodor was carrying, picking them up so they wouldn't drag on the floor. They locked eyes for a moment but didn't say a word. He just nodded quietly and led her down to the cellar.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Annabel took Edgar to their room, and he fell asleep as soon he stumbled into bed. She didn't have the same privilege; the worry had exhausted her, but it also kept her mind wide awake with constant thoughts. So she left the room, closing the door softly behind her, and followed the sound of people talking downstairs.

Everyone except Edgar, Lenore, and HG sat at the dinner table. Annabel joined them, collapsing into her seat. Fyodor served everyone a shot of vodka, and when he raised the bottle to her, she did not refuse his offer. She was never one to drink, but she would gladly make an exception tonight.

Emily was the first to speak. "How's Edgar?" Her voice was tired, quiet, and she wasn't meeting Annabel's gaze.

"Asleep," Annabel replied. She drank the shot, and set the glass down on the table, louder than she meant to.

"Did he explain anything to you?" Mary Shelley asked.

Annabel shook her head. She wanted to be angry that he kept this from her, but all she felt was hurt and guilt. She had told him everything about her life, what it was like with Eddie and how she felt about him, when she realized her feelings for Edgar, _everything_. And she thought he had told her everything. Did he not think she could keep his secret? And why didn't she see the signs earlier? Looking back, she could pinpoint every symptom of Edgar's secret. His stress whenever he was in the study, his awkwardness whenever someone asked what happened to Eddie, the loose floorboard, the blood streaks that were _everywhere_.

Fyodor took her glass and poured her another helping. She nodded, mumbled a thank you, and gulped down the drink.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
HG didn't remember walking up to the attic. He barely remembered leaving the study. All he could think about was Eddie's dead body staring at him and Lenore's grasp around him, just barely holding him to reality.

He didn't realize he was shaking until Lenore mentioned it. He stared at his fingertips, watching them tremble as he thought. His mind was always whirring, but now it felt like it was spinning out of control. He worried and worried and worried about Eddie and what were they going to do with his body, and Lenore, her face flashing with worry as he tumbled to the floor with the initial shock, and Edgar, how on Earth was _he_ taking it, and Lenore's eyes and how they darted everywhere with concern, and the noise, what if that returned, and Lenore --

Lenore held him tighter than she ever had. After a moment he let his body relax against hers, let his mind wander to the sensation of it. The fine stitching of her dress. The soft skin around her neck. The tiny cold feeling of her necklace against his forehead. It didn't stop the clockwork cogs of his thoughts, but they certainly slowed.

"I'm sorry," HG mumbled.

"It's not your fault," Lenore said quietly. She took his hand, giving it a kind squeeze. "You really had me worried there, though."

"I'm sorry."

"It's _not_ your _fault_ ," Lenore repeated. "It's just that...the last time you collapsed like that was when you were dying. And it just...brought back bad memories. Nothing you can control."

HG looked up at Lenore. She smiled feebly, but it fell away quickly. "Is Edgar okay?" he muttered, hoping to change the conversation.

Lenore shrugged. "I didn't ask. I'm sure he'll be fine eventually. Once this whole mess is figured out."

"What happened to Eddie? Why was he in the study?" HG asked. He had missed so much when he was dead and gone, wandering through time before stumbling into the study again. The same study where Eddie was found. Why hadn't he noticed him?

"Eddie was alive all along," Lenore said. "He was killing everyone, along with Charlotte Bronte and her sister Anne. He and Edgar were fighting and...something must've happened. He never said anything about it until now." She paused. HG could feel her suck in a breath and hold it. They didn't need to breathe, but they still did. Something about habits or whatever that HG had yet to study and fully comprehend. Lenore sighed and added, "He was the one who killed you."

HG looked up at her, straightening and pulling away from her. "Why didn't you ever tell me any of this?" He had heard the basics from everyone else -- Eddie and Charlotte and Anne had some big reveal, there was a fight, Eddie slipped away while Anne and Charlotte were arrested and carted off -- of course, the part about Eddie vanishing wasn't true, but no one knew that -- but no one had mentioned anything about who killed who.

"I don't like to think about it." She held her head in her hands, and HG wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "He did it because of me. I mean, there was this whole thing about his ancestor being Shakespeare, and publishing rights for Frankenstein, and Ernest's sports bet, and his fling with Oscar. But a lot of it was because of me. Because Guy was his brother and he was mad at me and you were close to figuring out that he was behind everything. So he killed you."

"Why would he kill me if he wanted to hurt you?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Because you like me?"

She laughed, weakly, sadly. "I guess you could say that."

HG nodded. "I, uh...I like you too."

Lenore looked up at him. She smiled and this time it stayed on her face. "I'm glad to hear that."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
They decided to dismember him.

The plans were made after dinner, once everyone was awake and slightly less insane. The decision was a bit contentious, but Mary Shelley kept her ground on the matter. Burial in the backyard was too obvious, she told them; the yard was bordered by several houses, the neighbours were nosy enough to notice disturbed ground, and Edgar's reputation as the-guy-whose-dinner-party-ended-in-a-mass-homicide wouldn't help his case. And if they buried him elsewhere, they ran the risk of being noticed, either during the process or in their observation of the site.

Lenore said they could just leave him somewhere, but Mary Shelley denied that idea. If they just abandoned him, he could be found be some hiker or what-have-you, and then the constables would tie Eddie to Edgar and none of them would be the wiser.

"What if one of us say we did it?" Annabel Lee asked. She was holding Edgar's hand like she would fade away if she didn't. "They can't exactly throw a ghost in jail."

"Why would they believe us?" Mary Shelley replied. "They'd have to be fools or incompetent to merely take our word for it."

"Also, didn't _you_ reveal everything the last time we tried to trick the police?" Lenore snapped.

"Lenore," HG muttered, squeezing her hand.

"Sorry," Lenore said before taking a long swig of her martini.

"Why don't we just keep it downstairs and forget about this whole thing?" Edgar exclaimed.

Mary Shelley didn't even have to say a word about how bad an idea that was. None of them much liked the idea of a dead man rotting away below their feet, and who knew what would happen to Edgar if they kept him around. He was already near madness as it was.

So, Mary had her way. Dostoyevsky would dismember the body, since he was the strongest out of all of them. The ghosts would take the remains and distribute them around town, far enough that they wouldn't be easily connected to them, but close enough that they could keep an eye on them. If need be, they could move them if anyone got suspicious. With a bit of luck, though Mary Shelley _hated_ relying on luck, they could get away with it.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Fyodor cut up the body that night. Mary Anne, Annabel, Lenore, and HG offered to clean up the blood while Emily, Fyodor, and Mary Shelley dealt with the corpse.

Once the need for bravado and faked masculinity was gone, Mary Anne didn't really feel special. She wasn't pretty, like Annabel Lee or Lenore. Her writing was good, she supposed, but, in a house full of celebrated authors, she couldn't really brag about it. The only thing she could rely on to impress people was her strong stomach.

When you go out of this world covered in bird excrement, nothing much bothers you anymore.

She scoured the basement with the others. While the others gagged and groaned and fainted, Mary Anne kept her head down and worked.

Within the hour, the vault was clean, but the work was far from done. They had to clean the rags they used as best they could. Some of them were so soaked in blood that they could scrub until the fabric dissolved in their fingertips and they'd still be tinged red, so HG suggested they burn what remained. Everyone threw the scraps of fabric in the fireplace and watched them burn away.

The house was kind of creepy as it was, but now it felt downright haunted. Lights flickered, thuds and thumps resounded all over the house. "It's just our own imaginations," HG reminded everyone. "This whole matter has us paranoid, that's all." Even he didn't sound entirely convinced, but he was most likely correct. They checked the electrical lines, inspected every room where someone swore they heard footsteps or knocking. Nothing, nothing, nothing. This really was getting to their heads.

It was early in the morning that the others returned, with Mary Shelley announcing the deed was done, Eddie was gone. They'd disposed of him in several locations -- lakes, forests, graveyards, abandoned lots. Places where things disappeared. She avoided specifics, saying something about plausible deniability.

So they all just sat there in silence. Most of them cradled glasses of alcohol. Some held hands. None of them spoke for what felt like forever.

"What kind of people have we become?" Fyodor muttered, head in his hands.

"Are we even people anymore?" Mary Anne added.

"Humans aren't people," Mary Shelley replied, finishing her glass of wine. "We're just animals trying to forget how monstrous we truly are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was fun. And long. Sorry about that, guys. There's more angst than fluff here.  
> I'll be updating as much as I can this week. Will put up at least one chapter a week until it's finished. Thanks for reading. Hope you guys enjoy it.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emily takes over teaching, a dark spirit makes an appearance, and Mary Shelley performs an exorcism

During breakfast, HG was exhausted after the night before -- he had a terrible nightmare and couldn't get any sleep afterwards -- and he was staring hollowly at his eggs and bacon. Lenore cast him a glance every so often, and he returned them with a stiff smile, but he knew it was no use. He couldn't eat, not now, not with his fingers fading through his fork every time he tried to grab it. He knew that the others were staring at him, too -- every so often he'd catch them, and their eyes would drop suddenly to the table. He noticed that Emily was staring at him most of all, other than maybe Lenore. He didn't know her very well -- barely noticed her half the time, which made him feel a bit guilty -- but almost every time he looked at the others, the two locked eyes. Unlike the others, she never broke eye contact with him.

After the meal was finished, and everyone else murmured their thanks to Lenore before heading their separate ways, HG, Annabel, Lenore, and Emily all lingered. Lenore snapped her fingers and the dishes all disappeared -- HG _really_ needed to study that more as soon as he could -- and she stood up to leave when Emily spoke up. Everyone turned to look at her. "Sorry to interrupt, but I had a question about something."

Annabel nodded. "Of course. What is it?"

Emily looked at HG. "I wanted to ask you something in particular."

"Y-yes?" HG furrowed his brows. No one, other than Lenore, had really asked him anything about his life. The ghosts knew enough about each other and their works, he supposed, and most of them were very private people. HG hadn't thought too much about the others -- another thing he really ought to have done by now.

"Are you still having difficulty moving things?" Emily asked, a bit nervously. "I noticed you couldn't pick up your fork."

HG nodded. "Yes, I must admit, I've been having trouble with it." His gaze moved down to the floor, and his hands fiddled with the bottom of his waistcoat.

"Well, I was wondering if maybe I could teach you?" Emily asked.

HG looked up at her, then Lenore, who was glaring at Emily with a raised eyebrow.

"I mean," Emily mumbled, suddenly nervous, "I had some difficulty figuring it out, too, since no one really taught me. I managed to figure out what worked for me, and I think it might help you, too." She paused, then added, "If it's alright with you guys, of course."

HG looked over at Lenore. She shrugged. "It's your choice, HG."

"It's worth a try," Annabel said. "Besides, it's been a week, Lenore. And we need HG's help more than ever." She flashed a smile at HG.

HG smiled back, then nodded at Emily. But he still hesitated -- he _really_ didn't want to hurt Lenore, especially now, with their relationship only just starting. "I suppose you're right. It's worth a try, at least."

Emily smiled and asked HG to sit down. He did, a bit nervously. Lenore and Annabel sat down as well, and Emily disappeared before returning with a book, a wine glass, and a fork. She set them all down before him and said, "There's a trick to it, I think. At least, there is for me." She sat down next to HG. "Start just by touching one of the objects. Try your best to remember what it felt like when you were alive."

HG nodded and placed a hand on the book -- he would never forget what a book felt like -- and, to his surprise, he _could_ feel it. The leather feel of the cover, the slightly embossed designs, the give of the spine, the deckled pages, the bookmark. He smiled, laughed slightly, said, "I can feel it." A book hadn't been so comforting since he was a child, stuck in bed for all those days, with nothing to do but read. He looked up at the others. Emily had a quiet grin, Annabel clapped softly, and Lenore's smile looked like it would break through her cheeks.

"Now try opening it," Emily said. "Keep the memory in your mind."

HG carefully moved his hand to the side of the cover. In his mind, he went back to that time when he was a child -- he was seven at the time, stuck in bed for hours on end, bored out of his wits and in pain. He focused on opening it, like he did all those years ago, slipping a thumb underneath the heavy cover, feeling the bumpy cardstock inside, slowly turning it open and revealing the speckled paper within.

Everyone clapped. HG sighed in relief, and let his fingertips trail to the pages. He tentatively turned them, flipped through them, caught snippets of text as he practiced moving the pages. Had the others not been there, he would have read through the whole book like a starving man would tear through a meal.

Instead, he closed the book and looked up as Lenore wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a sudden and awkward embrace. "I'm so fricking proud of you!" She exclaimed, and HG beamed as he hugged her.

"Aw," Annabel said, "you guys are so adorable."

Lenore pulled away, settling back into her chair. HG instantly missed her touch. "I mean, I know that. Anything involving me is gonna be cute."

"Why don't we move on to the fork then?" Emily interrupted.

HG nodded, smiling at her slightly, and repeated the process he had performed for the book. He ran his fingers over the cool metal carefully before picking up the fork, lifting it slowly. He grinned again -- it was a relief to know he could actually eat, regain some semblance of normality and routine, act human again.

Also, he _really_ wanted to try Lenore's food.

He set down the fork and moved on to the wine glass. Remember. Touch. Lift. He was holding it aloft, smiling like a giddy child, when it shattered in his hand.

Everyone jumped, most of all HG, and everyone stared at him, the broken shards on the table, him again. He laughed slightly. "I-I-I guess I just...don't know my own strength." 

"That wasn't you," Annabel said, shaking her head. Everyone else nodded.

"Yeah, you were _barely_ holding it," Lenore added. Her hand wrapped around his forearm, and she stared into his eyes.

"It took me nearly a week of practice to even open a door, much less break anything," Emily said. "I don't think anyone new to being corporeal could crush glass immediately."

HG shook his head. "No. No. It must've been me." His hands shook as he tried to scoop up the glass, but the shards just passed straight through his fingers.

Lenore grabbed his wrist and pulled it away. "HG. What is going on."

HG looked into her eyes. He couldn't tell if she was angry at him or scared to death. He shook his head. "I-it's nothing. Just a mistake. Nothing more." He didn't want to worry her. He wasn't even sure she would believe him.

The words were just about to escape his mouth when the lights went out, and an unseen force pulled him out of his chair and down to the floor.

Lenore yelped, then stood and cried out, "HG!" She rushed to his side, and Annabel quickly joined them. HG sat up, carefully. He wasn't hurt -- ghosts don't get hurt, after all -- but the shock was enough to make him panicky. Lenore took his hand and gripped it like he would be ripped from her if she didn't let go. "What is going on, HG?"

He shook his head. "I don't think it likes me talking about it."

"Could you try?" Emily asked.

"I was going to when he pulled me down," HG said.

"So it's a he?" Lenore said. "Is it Eddie?"

The doors connected to the dining room all slammed shut. Lenore and HG instinctively grabbed and held each other, while Annabel yelped.

"I'll take that as a yes," Lenore said into HG's shoulder.

"But how could that be? No one brought Eddie back from the dead," Emily added.

"We should ask the others," Annabel said. "They might be able to help figure it out. And besides, if it really is Eddie, then he might have a lot more targets than just HG."

"Guys," Emily said nervously. HG and Lenore looked up. Emily yanked a knife from the table. A piece of parchment was on it. She carefully pulled it off and read it. "You have killed me, destroyed me, scattered me, and abandoned me. Now you will pay."

Everyone shared a glance. It was Eddie. It had to be.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Annabel called the family meeting. Edgar hesitated a bit; he loved Annabel more than anything in the world, of course, and, for better _and_ for worse, Lenore was the closest thing he'd had to a sister in a long time, calling everyone else here "family" was a stretch. Besides, he was exhausted. Ever since the dinner party, he had trouble falling asleep, and while he had a nap the day before, that night he wasn't able to get any sleep in. The whole business involving Eddie was tearing him apart, and the only things keeping him sane were Annabel Lee and his writing. (And he couldn't even get any writing done this week since he kept losing quills and toppling over inkpots until he finally gave up and tried reading the library, though even _then_ the lights kept turning off. So far it had been a _terrible_ day.) But he still slumped into the seat at the head of the table, while the others filtered into their usual seats.

Edgar looked at all the others. They all looked completely exhausted, and most of them were cradling some sort of alcoholic beverage. HG and Lenore had already been sitting when Edgar arrived, and they were clutching each other's hands. Annabel remained standing, and when everyone arrived, she smiled at them all. (The only thing keeping Edgar awake at this point was her smile, though he could tell it was clouded with worry.) "I have asked you all to meet here to raise some concerns about some strange events that just occurred," she said.

"Was it something to do with the knocking on the walls?" Mary Shelley asked, head propped on one hand.

Everyone looked at her a bit oddly, though Fyodor nodded in agreement.

"I beg your pardon?" Annabel asked.

"For the past hour, someone has been knocking on the walls of my room. I couldn't focus on anything." Mary Shelley drained her glass of wine. "But I checked and there was nothing there."

Fyodor took a shot of vodka and passed the bottle to Mary Shelley. "I experienced the same thing as well. All day, it was like someone was hammering the walls, but I check and -- nothing there!"

"Exactly." Mary Shelley took a swig from the bottle and passed it back to Fyodor. "And it just smelled _awful_ in my room. Like burning flesh."

"I just smelled blood," said Fyodor as he poured himself another drink.

"I...I had a similar experience last night, before I went to sleep," HG muttered. "Except I smelled the same smoke from when I died." He sat up straighter. "Has anyone else smelled something from when they died?"

Lenore and Annabel shook their heads, but Mary Ann nodded. Everyone cast her a strange look.

"It _was_ the bird poo," she muttered as she finished a glass of whiskey, making a funny face as she drank it.

"Guys!" Lenore exclaimed. Everyone jumped a little in their seat. "This isn't what we came to talk about."

"Thank you, Lenore," Annabel said, in a much calmer tone. "Just a few minutes ago, Emily, Lenore, HG, and I were gathered here in the dining hall when a glass in HG's hand shattered out of nowhere. As you may notice, the pieces are still on the table." She pointed to a pile of glass at the other end of the table that Edgar hadn't noticed until now. "Shortly afterwards, the lights went out, and HG was pushed out of his chair and onto the floor by an unseen force. Afterwards, Emily found something on the table."

She looked over at Emily, who was sitting across from her and holding a knife and a piece of paper. (How long had she been sitting there?) "I found this," Emily held up the knife. Everyone craned their necks to look. Edgar recognized it as the same knife Charlotte Bronte had used to display a threatening note all those years ago. "It was stabbed into the table," Emily added.

"Is that--" Mary Shelley leaned closer to examine the knife.

"I can't tell for sure," said Annabel. "Emily, please read the note."

Emily smiled shyly and unfurled the paper, reading, "You have killed me, destroyed me, scattered me, and abandoned me. Now you will pay."

"Please tell me this is some kind of sick and twisted joke," said Lenore. Edgar agreed with her sentiment; he didn't want to relive that dreadful night again, and certainly not while battling an Eddie he couldn't kill. He didn't want to lose Annabel or his friends ever again.

But no one spoke a word.

"It must be Eddie's doing," Mary Shelley said. "He's come back to haunt us all."

"But how?" Lenore asked. "He can't be a ghost, or we'd all see him. And besides, he was never brought back. It can't be him."

Edgar blinked. Why hadn't he thought of it before? "I think I know what this is. Eddie is not a ghost."

"That is literally what I just said," Lenore snapped.

"No, that is--" Edgar sighed. "I am not going to start this. Just follow me to the library."

Edgar stood. Everyone with a drink finished it before standing and following him as he rushed to the library. He looked through the shelves before finding an older tome that he had bought when he first moved in with Lenore: _Spirits, Good and Bad_. He hadn't read it in years. Edgar thumbed through the chapters, reading each name aloud. Ghosts, Phantasms, Ghouls, Banshees, Demons -- "Poltergeists!"

Annabel, who stood right next to him, placed a hand on his shoulder and got on tiptoe to look at the book. "Is that what you think it is?"

"I believe so," Edgar said. He read a section of the chapter's introduction. "Poltergeists are spirits that remain in a house after a being's death. While many are merely mischievous, most tend to be malevolent in nature. They tend to target people who wronged them when they were alive or people who remind them of old enemies." He looked up at the others. 

"That sounds about right," HG said.

Edgar nodded and turned the page to a list titled, "Do _You_ Have a Poltergeist?" Everyone gathered closer, pressing in to see what he was reading.

"Number One: Electrical Disturbances. This can include electricity turning off without any reason or electrical objects that had previously been broken working on their own."

"The lights turned off before HG was attacked," Lenore said.

"The lights in my room kept flickering," Mary Anne commented.

"Same here," said Mary Shelley.

"Yeah, and the lights in _here_ keep--"

The lights suddenly turned off. "Oh, _come on_!"

A light appeared in the dark. Mary Shelley was holding a light match.

"Do you just...carry those around?" Lenore asked.

"One never knows when one will be catastrophically immersed in total darkness in this world," she replied.

"See, _she_ gets it," Edgar said to Lenore, awkwardly pointing at Mary Shelley. Mary smiled at him and maneuvered herself closer to Edgar, handing him the match. He took out one of his vest-candles, lit it, and handed it back to Mary Shelley.

"Number Two: Rapping or Banging on Walls, Doors, and Other Surfaces."

Lenore giggled slightly. "Banging." Edgar elbowed her, and she scoffed and said, "What? It's not like any of you nerds are doing it."

"I-I, we..." Edgar tried to wrap an arm around Annabel Lee, but she just stood stiffly and shook her head while everyone else rolled their eyes. Edgar huffed and retorted, "Well, it's not like _you're_ doing it either!"

"I wouldn't count on that," HG replied. Lenore snorted and high-fived him.

"I did _not_ need to know that." Edgar returned to the text. "Has anyone experienced any strange knocking?"

"I did," Emily said softly. "I thought it was one of you pulling a prank on me."

"We would never do that, Ellen," Edgar replied.

"Are you _ever_ going to remember my name--"

"Number Three: Objects Being Moved and Thrown by Themselves."

"Well, there was HG," Annabel said, counting on her fingers, "the shattered glass..."

"My books and papers," Mary Anne added.

"The inkpot, like seven times," Edgar commented. "And always on my paper. _Always_!" He shook his head at Eddie, wherever the hell he was. As if in reply, a sudden gust of wind blew out the candle.

"Should've seen _that_ coming," Lenore said.

Mary Shelley lit another match and relit the candle. "I only have a couple more of these, so maybe it would be a good idea if we hurry it up. Just a little."

"Yeah, you're right," Edgar replied. "Number Four: Objects Disappearing and Reappearing."

Everyone nodded in approval.

"Number Five: Strange or Unusual Smells."

As soon as Edgar said it, the room was filled with the stench of rotting corpses, the same odor that had filled the study before Eddie was removed. Everyone gagged, and HG heaved and fled the room, Lenore trailing after him.

"Number Six: Occasional Levitation." No one replied. "Really? Well, I hope we didn't give Eddie any ideas." He returned to the book. "Number Seven: Physical Attacks."

Something from behind Edgar shoved him to the floor, knocking the wind out of him. Annabel cried out, "Edgar!" and crouched down next to him. Edgar felt like someone was standing on his back, right on top of his lungs, and it was hard to breathe. Someone picked up the book and looked through it.

Mary Shelley's voice arose above Edgar's gasps. "Saint Michael, the archangel, defend us in battle," she read, her tone dark and serious. In the room, a whirlwind began to form, nearly blowing out the candle, but not quite. "Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil."

The pressure on Edgar's back was worsening. Now he couldn't breathe. He grabbed frantically at the ground, Mary Shelley, Annabel, anything to pull him up and get whatever was on him off. Annabel cried out, "Eddie, leave him alone, you're killing him!"

"May God rebuke him, we humbly pray," Mary Shelley continued. In the tornado that was occurring in the room, Mary Shelley appeared like a statue of a saint, candle in one hand, book in the other. Nothing seemed to faze her, not Edgar's struggle, not Annabel's cries, not Mary Anne desperately clinging onto her. "And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Hosts, thrust into Hell Satan and other evil spirits who prowl through the world seeking the ruin of souls." She looked up, scanned the room, then slammed the book closed and said, "Amen."

The wind suddenly stopped. The lights returned, and Mary Shelley blew out her candle. The pressure was gone, and Edgar breathed, coughed, and sputtered, burying his face in Annabel's skirts as she rubbed his back. Lenore and HG rushed in, and both kneeled by Edgar's side. He slowly pushed himself up and onto his knees. The books were scattered everywhere, Mary Anne looked utterly terrified, and Emily and Fyodor were holding each other, looking like they hadn't even realized it.

"Did we get rid of it?" Fyodor asked. He looked at Emily, and the two abruptly separated.

"I suspect we have," Mary Shelley said. "The book said St. Michael's Prayer will get rid of an evil spirit. Eddie is gone for good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reeeeeeeeeeally should have waited until next week to publish this...but I couldn't resist. This is the last complete chapter I have already written, so I'll be working on Chapter Four tonight. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, quick shout out to my roomie, who has looked over previous chapters and previous drafts, and helped me describe the inside of the cover of the book HG opens. (I was using Lady Chatterley's Lover as a model since it's the only older book I have.)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which HG and Annabel become friends, Emily and Fyodor discuss literature, and Lenore cooks dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, this will be more fluffy than the last chapters. I'm not saying there won't be angst. But it should be overtaken by fluff. Hopefully. Not sure yet. Kind of winging it here.

Annabel and HG hadn't spoken much at all. Aside from the few moments of interaction in between seeing Lenore and Edgar, Annabel couldn't remember saying a word to him, which felt wrong to her. She was very close to Lenore, and she knew the two were in love. Everyone did, really, except for Edgar, though he wasn't the brightest of the bunch when it came to emotions. Most of the others disappeared to celebrate or recharge (or do both; some of the occupants' definitions of "celebrating" were a bit less "woohoo let's party" and more "I'm gonna write a storm and then drink until I collapse" or "I'm gonna read until I'm dragged out of my bedroom") but HG stubbornly stayed behind. Annabel didn't much object to his help; she truly did need it.

While Annabel hurried about, picking up stray books and fixing their crumpled pages as best she could, returning trinkets to shelves, picking up broken glass, HG slowly moved from book to book, and she could tell he was carefully applying the techniques Emily taught him. He would close his eyes, carefully touch the books, trace his fingers over them, then slowly pick them up, straightening the pages and closing the covers, setting them carefully on the shelves. He moved consistently, with a deep focus that was fascinating to watch. Annabel could understand how Lenore could fall in love with him. 

They finished after some time. It wasn't organized, but Edgar could take care of it when he got his energy back. Annabel collapsed into the chair and sighed. HG sat down next to her. She smiled at him. "Glad everything's taken care of now?" Annabel asked, trying to break the ice a little.

HG didn't meet her gaze. He rubbed his hands, fiddled with his goggles, his hair. "I don't think this is finished, Annabel."

Annabel straightened. "What do you mean?"

"I...I don't know. I can't tell for sure if it is. Maybe, in time..." HG paused. He took several deep breaths. Annabel gently rubbed his shoulder, unsure of what else to do. "Promise not to tell this to Lenore. I don't think she could bear to hear it."

Annabel nodded. "Of course. What is it?"

"I had a dream last night after the body was taken away. I dreamed about my death, the smoke, how it was choking me, and then I woke up. Or I thought I woke up. And I saw two figures standing by the bed. They were mocking me, threatening me. One of them I recognized to be Eddie. He was talking about revenge, about getting back at us for destroying him. But the other was talking about Lenore and he asked if I loved her and he said that I would pay for taking her heart." He paused to take a breath. He was shaking and teary-eyed. "I think I know who it was. But I can't be sure, I didn't recognize the voice too well, it's been so long since I heard it."

"You think it's Lenore's fiance?" Annabel asked. Lenore had mentioned Guy once or twice, how he was a sweet man who meant well, who loved her too much for his own good, but someone who was gone and out of her life.

"I think so," HG said. "I don't want her to know, though."

Annabel nodded. She disagreed, knowing his story, but she wasn't one to break a promise, especially with a secret so big and so terrifying. She wanted to change the topic. "Do you love her?"

HG paused. He took a deep breath and said, "Yes."

"Does she know?"

Another pause. He shook his head. "She knows I like her. I don't know if she knows anything more than that?"

"How long were you away, HG?" Annabel asked. "When you were time travelling?"

HG smiled, laughed slightly. "I lost track of time. It must've been years. It felt like years."

"Why did you come back?" Annabel asked.

"It was an accident, to be honest." HG laughed again. "Well, in a way. I kept on coming back to this house, but at different times. I came in the future, the far future, and people had all sorts of odd mechanisms and devices all over the place. One of them thought I was an actor of some sort. It was very confusing, though I got to see all sorts of fascinating inventions. Then I came back in the past when it was first being built. I scared some construction workers. Then I came during winter, not too far in the future. I was outside, looking in. There were lights all over the place, and a tree in the room I looked into. Then I saw myself come in. I was fussing over decorations, and I had a box in my hand. And I looked outside at myself, or maybe I was looking inside at myself, I don't know. But I smiled and rushed to pick up a piece of paper and write down something and I pushed it against the window and it said, 'Things are going to get better. You will marry the woman of your dreams, you will have a family, you will be okay. Get back to the present.' And then he crumpled up the paper and Lenore walked in and he proposed to her and she became really happy, I guess she said yes, and they kissed. And then I came back here. I knew I had to come back. And then I ended up in this study, and you and Lenore were there, and well...you know the story from there."

Annabel smiled, but she still worried. If Guy was appearing alongside Eddie...then the exorcism might not have worked. But she said nothing else about the matter, letting the conversation wander to small talk about their prospective love interests. Annabel had finally found someone to chat about her silly wedding fantasies with.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
After the poltergeist's appearance, Emily retreated to her room to clear her mind and calm down a little. It wasn't a room per se, really just an old storage closet that was stocked with old books that were falling apart. But the books were all great works, and they smelled heavenly. There was a tiny window that let in just enough sunlight to read by, and she had smuggled a candle into the room that she could use to read at night. Dust motes flew up around her when she walked in like old friends greeting her presence.

She plucked a heavy tome with a torn binding from the top of one of her stacks. "Shakespeare's Complete Works". Emily loved Shakespeare, loved the dialogue that rolled off the tongue like a resplendent lullaby, loved the sonnets that surrounded her like a warm blanket. She found comfort, catharsis, and laughter in his words, and had learned many lines by heart. Carefully -- the thing was little more than pages and string barely held together -- she set the book down on the floor and flipped through to where she left off. She was reading _All's Well That Ends Well_ , a comedy, though she half-wished that she had left off on _Macbeth_ or _Hamlet_ , considering the circumstances. Perhaps this would lift her mood a little. She had left off when Helena was confessing her love for Bertram. 

"Then I confess  
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you  
That before you and next unto high heaven  
I love your son."

The door suddenly opened, and Fyodor Dostoyevsky lumbered in, then stopped in shock when he saw her. "Oh! Sorry. I-I was looking for something to read, but the study was being cleaned, and --"

"Oh, no, it's fine," Emily said, though it really wasn't fine. She didn't like people wandering into her room, even if they did forget she was here most of the time. Despite her slight annoyance, she rose to her feet and said, "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Fyodor smiled slightly and walked further in, looking at the piles of old books. "I will read anything. Hugo, Cervantes, Shakespeare..."

"You like Shakespeare, too?" Emily felt her heart lift a little. It would be nice having someone to talk with about Shakespeare's works; the only other person she really spoke with was Annabel, and she wasn't as fond of the Bard as Emily was. "I was just reading his work."

"Yes. Shakespeare was great comfort in the Siberian prisons," Fyodor said, his eyes turning dark and blank.

Something in Emily told her to give him the book. It was the only copy she had managed to find, and it was _her_ book, something she had read dozens of times in the month she had spent in this house. But she wanted to make him happy. Emily knelt down, carefully gathered the tome, and handed it to Fyodor. He held it like one would hold a baby, all gentleness despite his clumsy size. "Do try to be careful with it. It's the only copy I've found in here, and as you can probably tell it's on its last legs."

"Thank you," he said sweetly. They stood there for a while, a bit awkwardly before he bowed slightly and walked off.

Emily sighed, a bit regretful and annoyed at herself, but still proud. She picked up another book -- Charles Dickens, so not the worst thing in the world -- and returned to her reading.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Lenore started cooking as soon as the poltergeist deal finished. She might have been a people person through and through, but a girl had to have space. Sure, she had the attic, but HG spent most of his time up there now, retreating into his little shell, and she had her books, but people were always distracting her, and she had to keep an eye out in case HG caught her reading one of his works. But nobody walked into the kitchen.

One of the few advantages of the house being filled to the brim with people (well, ghosts, plus one actual human, but whatever) is that she always had plenty to cook, giving her a reliable excuse for disappearing. No one really dropped in, unless Annabel was bored or Edgar wanted to know when the food was ready or HG was needed help picking something up, so she had plenty of time to herself. It was nice. Quiet, aside from her occasional humming and the sounds of food being prepared. She didn't need to worry about HG or Edgar or Annabel or something flying out of her control. Everything was as it should be.

The doorknob shook slightly, then there was a slight knock followed by a mumbled, "Oh, fiddlesticks," and a small glance of a hand fading in before fading out again. Lenore sighed but smiled. HG was the only one who ever asked before entering. "Come in, HG. Do you need me to--"

"I got it!" HG said from behind the door, and the knob clumsily turned. HG managed to push it open halfway before it stopped and he faded right through it. He murmured another made-up expletive (Lenore thought it might've been "crabcakes") before carefully closing the door. Lenore snickered. She didn't want him to feel bad, but his clumsiness as a ghost was rather adorable.

"What brings you over here, HG?" Lenore asked as she stirred the cooking pasta.

"Well, I wanted to watch you work," HG said. "If you don't mind, of course."

Lenore shrugged. On the one hand, quiet time ruined. On the other hand, she liked spending time with HG. The latter side won out. "Go right ahead. Today we're having pasta a la vodka with a side of soup and salad."

HG looked over at the pots on the stove, blinked, then said, "Which one's the sauce and which one's the soup?"

"This one is the sauce," Lenore pointed to the pot at the front and to her left, which was filled with an orangey, bubbling liquid that was a little chunkier than she had expected. "And this one's the soup." She pointed to the pot on the back burner. "It's actually the recipe from the dinner party. Don't tell the others."

"The one I stuck my face in?" HG asked, smiling a bit.

Lenore nodded. "Yep, only this time, we're gonna eat it."

"It is a good soup," HG said. "At least from what I've tasted."

"Yeah. Trust me. My cooking is amaze. It's kinda tragic you guys never got to taste it." Lenore scooped a spoonful of the soup and handed it to HG. "Try it. Get a better taste."

HG took the spoon very carefully, then ate the soup, a bit nervously and awkwardly, like a kid in a way. He paused then said, "It is very good."

"Told you," Lenore said. She took back the spoon and returned to cooking. The room filled with silence, but it wasn't awkward, as it might have been with any of the others. She could feel him watching her with a focused fascination. Occasionally he would ask questions such as "what's that you're putting into the sauce?" and she'd go on her spiel about rosemary and whatnot. It felt very close to being with him in the attic on that last night, watching him fuss and fiddle, asking questions whenever she got confused. Only he asked a lot fewer questions.

She strained the pasta, dumped it into the sauce, then started working on the salad while the pasta and soup were left to simmer for a sec. HG watched as she carefully washed and chopped the lettuce and other vegetables. The silence became less relaxed and casual and more...tense? Lenore wasn't sure. She felt like she wanted to ask HG something, initiate the conversation, but she didn't really know what to say. Finally, a question came, odd but important. "Are we...dating?"

HG stopped, blinked, then said, "If you would like that."

"So we're dating."

"I guess so."

Lenore didn't know what to expect when she began making her moves with HG. Maybe not a tintinnabulation of wedding bells (jeez, Edgar's poetry was getting to her) but something romantic. A rose and a declaration of love, or a reading of romantic poetry or Shakespeare or whatever. Not an "I guess so" over half-chopped tomatoes.

But she liked it anyways.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a romantic moment is interrupted, the truth comes to light, and we finally get a Wellenore kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT WILL COME  
> SOMEHOW

HG felt the pull as soon as he confirmed it.

He and Lenore were planets in orbit before, dancing around each other, destined never to touch. All it took was an out-of-nowhere question and a hesitant acceptance to send them on a crash course. Hands touched when he helped her finish the food. Shoulders bumped as they shifted. They kept on pausing and almost kissing before _cribblesticks_ , they forgot the cucumbers, or _oh dear_ the pasta's burning. Always almost, never there.

Not yet.

It was fifteen minutes before lunch was supposed to start. Everything they needed was ready to serve at the snap of a finger -- really, he needed to study that, but right now he just wanted to focus on _her_. Lenore wrapped her arms around HG's shoulders, and under any other circumstances the figment of his heart would be in his throat, but he just wanted this is so much that the only thing he could think of was Lenore and her touch and how close she was, and inching closer now--

 _CRASH_!

Instead of kissing her, HG immediately grabbed Lenore in a rough embrace, burying his face in her shoulder. She hugged him back, trying to comfort him, and she craned her neck to see what fell. "It was the soup," Lenore said. "But that can't be possible, Eddie is supposed to be gone--"

"It's not Eddie," HG blurted into her shoulder. His mind was back in that panic whirlwind, worrying and worrying about the nightmare and the attacks and the voice, could it be him? Why would he want to hurt him? Did he not care about Lenore being hurt, too?

"Who else would it be?" Lenore said. "Louisa May Alcott? I don't think so." She started to pull away from HG. "I'm gonna have a talk with Mary Shelley about this."

HG held onto Lenore. "Lenore. Trust me. He's gone now. If Mary Shelley's anything, she's thorough. Eddie isn't back." 

"Then who is it?" Lenore exclaimed, too loud, too loud, but he didn't want to say anything because that would only make it worse.

"Promise me you'll believe me."

Lenore took a deep breath and said, "I promise. Who is it?"

"Guy."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Lenore's world had been turned upside-down many times. She had fallen in love, died, came back, lost Guy, got a madman as a roommate. The dinner party alone was so crazy that Lenore barely knew how to feel by the end of it. Then HG came back, then Eddie was found, then all the crazy crap happened. Again, and again, and again. Guy coming back as some weird polter-whatever thing who should've been just another speed bump to her at this point.

But it wasn't. Of course, it wasn't.

As soon as he said it, all of the bowls shattered. She half-shoved, half-dragged him out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind him. Lenore barely had time to fully take in the news before Annabel and Edgar and everyone else rushed in to see what happened. By then, HG was a bundle of panic curled up at her feet, and she felt like joining him in a mutual freak out, but one of them needed to explain what happened. She needed to be strong. Or stronger, at least.

She spouted out what she knew -- she skipped over the dating and the near kiss and stuff, nobody needed to know that right now -- about the soup, and what HG said, and the crash, and she was just a blur of snapping responses and yelling and at some point someone told her she and HG needed to calm down before they did anything drastic. Someone else said something about separating them because if this _was_ Guy and he _was_ attacking HG, it might worsen things if they were together. Edgar promised to look after HG, and Annabel took Lenore by the arm and whisked her away to Annabel's tiny study, where she collapsed into the chair and cried for the first time in her afterlife. And Annabel just knelt down next to her and rubbed her back as she wept.

"This can't be happening. This _can't_ be happening." Lenore said. She was out of tears now. Now she just stared at the floor and repeated, "This can't be _happening_."

"Lenore," Annabel said. "What did HG tell you about what was going on?"

Lenore took a deep breath. Another. "He told me he thought it was Guy. That it couldn't be Eddie. But it has to be Eddie. Guy wouldn't want to hurt HG. He wasn't that kind of man."

"So he didn't tell you about his dream?"

Lenore glared at Annabel. "What."

"He told me he had a nightmare where Eddie and Guy were in the attic, talking to him and Guy was threatening him because he took your heart or something."

Lenore froze. Any hope she had had about this whole thing being a mistake was dashed.

"That wasn't a dream, Annabel. I heard him talking last night. I saw him talking. And he wasn't sleeping."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 _Spirits, Good and Bad_ was gone. So was any book in Edgar's study that might've had something to do with ghosts or exorcisms. Meanwhile, HG had been thrown across the room, everything on a shelf or flat surface was pulled to the floor, the lights went out, and every one of Mary Shelley's matches or Edgar's candles went out. Mary Anne and Mary Shelley offered to go out to find a book that could help them, and Fyodor was willing to search for matches in the house. They disappeared, leaving Edgar alone with HG, who was curled up in the corner and -- wait, was he _crying_?

Oh dear.

Edgar wasn't good with other's emotions in the best of times. He never noticed Annabel loved him back, even in his deep devotion to her. He never realized Lenore and HG were in love until HG told him in a stuttery, weak voice that they were. He couldn't even remember Emily's name or existence half of the time, not until Annabel reminded him. Speaking of, where was she?

A vase on the table shattered. HG and Edgar both jumped.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry," HG said into the crook of his elbow. He was crying. Poor guy.

Edgar shuffled over to him, knelt next to him, and awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

HG nodded. A broken statuette flew from the floor and hit Edgar on the side of the head. "Ow!" Edgar winced. 

HG sat up and immediately moved to Edgar's other side to see the wound. "Oh, d-d-dear." He turned and yelled, "Annabel! Lenore!"

"Lenore isn't supposed to be in here, HG." Edgar moved away from him. "It is HG, right?"

"Well, I'm not having you call me by my real name," HG said. "Also, I'm pretty sure Lenore would like to know if you've gotten yourself badly hurt!"

Someone came running inside. It was Annabel, scared and wide-eyed, followed by Lenore. Both of them rushed to Edgar and HG. "Edgar, what happened?" Annabel asked, examining Edgar's head.

A couple of books went flying across the room. "I was trying to comfort HG and Guy decided to throw one of my old bookends at my head."

"Maybe we should get a ghost to watch HG," Annabel said.

"Maybe we should out of the house!" Lenore said. "Do you know how long it's going to take to clean up this place? Also HG is kind of freaking out right now and staying here is only going to make things worse."

HG smiled at her slightly. The lamp toppled and broke.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Edgar admitted.

Lenore and HG hurried out of the room. Edgar heard the front door open and slam behind them. Annabel stood and helped Edgar up, leading him to the kitchen. They met Mary Shelley on the way, and Annabel explained that Lenore and HG were leaving for a while, at least until they could find a way to exorcise the house. Mary Shelley nodded and left them to tell the others.

Once in the kitchen, Annabel got some water and a rag and wiped the blood from Edgar's wound. "It doesn't look too bad. Just needs a bandage, is all."

Edgar nodded. "You okay?"

"Fine," Annabel said, in a way that told him that nothing was fine.

"You don't sound fine," Edgar said awkwardly.

Annabel sighed. "I'm just tired."

"You sure that's it?" Edgar asked.

Annabel went searching through the drawers before she found a roll of bandages. "I'm just a little frustrated you never told me, Edgar."

"About Eddie?"

Annabel nodded as she began wrapping Edgar's head in bandages. Edgar had to kneel a little so she could reach. "I'm sorry," Edgar said with a sigh. "I just..."

"Didn't want me to get in trouble?" Annabel said.

"Yeah."

"I know." She tucked the end of the bandage under the rest of the wrapping. "But we told each other everything, Edgar. I told you everything. To hide something that big...it hurt, Edgar."

"I'm sorry, Annabel. I truly am." 

Annabel wrapped her arms around Edgar's chest, holding him as close as she could without passing through him entirely. "It's okay, Edgar."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The afternoon was lovely. Anything would've been lovely compared to the inside of that house, but today it was especially so. They walked down the streets around the house. HG had his arm wrapped around Lenore's, his hand in hers. It felt natural. Normal. Like they'd been doing it for years. The area was quiet. The sidewalks were caked in snow, but they let it pass right through them. It was surreal, in a way, standing in the snow and not freezing to the bone.

They wandered to a park not far from home. The bare-bone trees surrounding the paths each looked like Atlas holding a world of snow. By the time they had arrived it had started to snow. Everything looked perfect.

"We're alone, you know," Lenore said, eyebrows raised.

"I know," HG said, smiling mischievously.

They stopped by a pond that had frozen over. He took her other hand, squeezed it. She squeezed back. Once again he felt the pull. He leaned in, and this time there were no poltergeists to interrupt.

Her lips were soft. Cool, but not unpleasantly so. Her hands moved from his grasp to his shoulders, and his drifted to her waist. He could feel all the tiny beads and stitches under his fingertips. They pulled closer.

He didn't know how much time passed while they were kissing there. It didn't matter. He had all the time in the world.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emily finds the book and performs another exorcism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter :( but the next parts are gonna be very fluffy I promise.

Emily was looking through her tiny room for the book.

She doubted it would be there. No one went into her room -- except for Dostoyevsky, of course -- but maybe a poltergeist would hide something there. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But maybes didn't solve problems. Maybes didn't perform exorcisms.

Emily carefully looked through the stacks of books, taking out the copies without covers to check the titles just in case. Nothing. She stood with a huff, dusted her dress, even though she knew there wasn't anything on it, and started out the room.

Then she bumped directly into Fyodor.

He was so big and hulking she toppled over backwards into the room again. They froze in shock for a moment and Emily was sure that if she were still living she'd be blushing. Fyodor mumbled something and offered a hand to pull her up. Emily took it, carefully avoiding eye contact, and then quickly separated from him as she dusted off her skirt again.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I was looking for matches. There aren't any anywhere."

Emily nodded and led him into her room. She bristled a little at letting him in again when all she wanted was some privacy and some time to clear her thoughts, but it was an urgent need. His eyes went immediately to the candle and the matchbox on her windowsill. "Ah! Here's where they were hiding." He went to grab them, but stopped and turned towards her. "Do you mind if I take these?"

"Oh, no, it's fine," Emily said with a nod and a smile. At least he asked.

Fyodor smiled back shyly as he picked up the matches. "Did you find the book?"

"No." Emily shook her head, gaze dropping again. But then she froze.

In the corner, under a small pile of books, tucked between a copy of Mark Twain with a beaten binding and a large tome without a spine, was _Spirits, Good and Bad_.

How could she have missed it? Emily dropped to her knees and pulled at the book. Fyodor knelt next to her and pressed his hands against the stack above the book so they wouldn't topple. Once it was free, she held it in her hands for a moment. Even though she had no heart, she could almost feel it fluttering beneath her ribs.

"Finally, this nightmare will be over with," Fyodor said. "We will be free." He held her hands in his as they held the book. Emily looked up at him. From this position, he was no looming giant, and their faces were mere inches apart. The illusion of a pulse returned, feeling like a bird trapped in a cage waiting to be freed.

After a moment, she pulled away. Their eyes separated. "It's not over with until the exorcism is complete." Emily rose to her feet. "We have to find the others." She extended a hand, and he took it, pushing himself up off the floor. The touch felt nice; his hands were calloused, and they wrapped around her soft fingers. She didn't let go as she pulled him out of the room and they rushed out to the hall.

"I found it!" she cried at the top of her lungs, clutching the book as she raised it in victory. "I found the book!"

Annabel peered out of a room down the hall and immediately smiled. "Emily! Do it! Now!"

Emily nodded and stopped in the foyer, opening the book and flipping through until she found the exorcism section. Fyodor's hand travelled from her grasp to her shoulder as he peered over her. "Saint Michael, the archangel, defend us in battle," she said, as quickly as she could. Everyone poured into the room, but for once the crowd did not bother her. If anything, she was emboldened by the attention. "Be our protection against the wickedness and the snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray."

She expected a fight, either from Guy or from within herself. She expected stutters or whirlwinds or thrown furniture or nervous meltdowns or _something_ , but all she noticed were the words before her and the soft strength of Fyodor's hand. "And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Hosts, thrust into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl through the world seeking the ruin of souls." She closed the book carefully. "Amen."

The house was silent, save for the soft breathing of Edgar and the ghosts.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, my first fic!  
> Got my AO3 account on my birthday, which is an excellent gift, I must say.  
> I've been obsessed with this series ever since I first watched it. I'm playing HG in a play version at my college and I love him and also everything and everyone else. (If any of y'all have cosplayed him and know how to make/where to get his goggles PLEASE MESSAGE ME.)


End file.
